Empirical Gnollage: Installment 52 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment052.png]
It wasn't possible to see the whole building in the fog, but it looked to be made from carved granite, severely weathered by time. A set of stone double-doors were marked in a way that suggested the straight lines and sharp angles that Al had come to associate with Elven writing, but they had been worn away too much to read, even if Al had understood the Elvish language to begin with. Wondering why the goblins hadn't been able to get inside, he pushed on one of the doors and was surprised to feel it budge slightly inward with a slight crunching of dirt beneath ancient rollers.
"Want to give this a safety check, while I see if there are any magical influences on the door?" Al asked Wikwocket. She looked up from admiring her new sword with a grin. "That seems like a good idea," she agreed, then she looked back at the blade. "Don't you agree, BiteySue?"
"BiteySue?" Al asked, incredulous, "Are you serious?"
"Hey, let me have my fun. BiteySue is a great name for her!"
"Yes, BiteySue is a perfect name, don't make fun of me or I'll bite you, too!" Wikwocket voiced in a higher pitch on the blade's behalf, bobbing the tip up and down with each syllable. Then, she twirled it around behind her and after only a couple of tries got the tip down between the boards of its wooden sheath and levered it back into its resting-place.
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Wikwocket gave the stone doors a close look while Al got out his wizardry notes and carefully went through the meditation to adjust his senses to perceive magical activity. There was no visible mechanism for locking or unlocking the doors, and Wikwocket's investigation of the gaps between and under the doors revealed no bar in place. There was some sort of rolling mechanism built into the bottom of the doors, but they seemed to only be there to support them and make it possible to push them open - or perhaps pull them closed if one could get a grip on what was left of the embedded handles carved into the weathered doors.
"I expect the stone was quarried from quite some distance away," Bote added to the observations,"This is granite, and this does not seem like the terrain where one would be able to quarry it. Judging by the weathering, I would guess the doors were set in place perhaps seven or eight centuries ago. Construction is mortarless and seems to be made in the wastefully slow Elvish style where the stones are fitted together by careful selection of shapes and then polished until they fit tightly. The surface of the stones to the right of the door may be slightly more worn than the ones to the left, so the right side of this structure may have been built first and then the rest added from there. There is some sign of separation and cracking that suggests the foundation may be uneven, or perhaps this area was beyond the swamps when it was built and the encroaching water has allowed some settling or displacement of the soil below. I do not read Elvish but what is left of the carvings on the door were almost certainly writing in the Elvish style. However, this is only a guess based on what anyone from dwarvish culture should be able to tell at a glance. You would need to ask a professional mason if you wanted any detailed analysis."
Al blinked as he finished his meditations. "Yeah, it's a shame nobody here knows anything about stonework," he said, though he was unsure if the sarcasm would get through. He moved closer to the stone doors and carefully ran his eyes over what was visible in the fog.
"I don't see any active magic out here. There's a faint radiance that I think might be divine, which makes sense if this is a consecrated burial place. Right?"
"This seems likely," Bote agreed.
"And I can't find any traps or even a lock. Maybe we should just go in?" Wikwocket suggested.
"We should probably...," Al started, but Gruntle interrupted by lunging into the right-side door and shoving forward. The door swung slowly inward with the grinding sound of the rollers underneath against the stone floor. Al flinched back, but no obvious danger revealed itself. Gruntle stepped inside once the door was open far enough.
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The chamber inside would have been large enough for a small house, had the rubble not been in the way. It was square, and Al estimated the sides more than ten paces long. The walls had traces of pigment here and there, which suggested that at one time there had been some sort of artwork there, but time had destroyed whatever it had been. Hallways wide enough for two columns of human-sized people to easily parade down them led away through the middle of the walls on either side and opposite the door they'd just opened. The hallway to the right was closed off by a grating of steel, and in Al's current magically-sensitive vision he could see a shimmering force clinging to the bars, clearly intended to prevent opening or damaging the barrier. Looking up, Al could see that there had once been a stone ceiling in place, but much of it had broken with time and fallen into the room they were looking into. Through the holes in what little was left of the ceiling, daylight filtered down through a few cracks and holes that had appeared in the domed stone roof above. The floor and walls were all damp in the humid air and the place somehow smelled even more of swamp than the outside did.
Al conferred with his companions. "That hallway is barred by magic as well as the metal there, so if we end up needing to go that way we'll need to find some way to get it to open. Otherwise, I don't see anything special in this chamber." He paused to think for a moment. "You know, if there were goblins outside wanting to get in here, there might be more of them running around out there. This chamber seems to have plenty of room if we move some of this rubble, maybe we should drag everything in here while we explore, so if any more of them show up they don't see the dead ones, and they don't try to steal...our stuff!"
Al shouted the last of that, embarrassed to have forgotten about it. He went sprinting out the door and back through the goblin camp, followed closely by Gruntle who was unsure what was happening, but not wanting to miss out on any violence that might be about to happen. Wikwocket and Bote looked to each other, then Wikwocket shrugged and they followed at a more casual pace.
Al was gratified and a little surprised to see that Haunch had stayed right where they left him. The donkey brayed in surprise and backed away as Al came charging out of the fog with Gruntle right behind. Al gave the cart a quick look but nothing seemed to be missing or damaged.
"What was that all about?" Wikwocket asked as she and Bote caught up.
"I just realized I let myself get distracted and forgot about everything here, I was afraid Haunch might have wandered off or our stuff might be stolen by more goblins," Al answered, sighing with relief. "Anyway, as I was saying, maybe we should bring everything into the tomb before we go exploring. We can push the doors shut again, and hopefully if there are any more goblins out there they won't even realize we're inside."
"Good thinking! But, I don't have to touch the goblins do I? They're kind of gross," Wikwocket complained.
They led Haunch back to the goblins' campsite, and Al decided to use a magic trick to snuff out the campfire rather than spend the time to put it out by hand - who knew when other goblins might come along to check on things? Gruntle dragged the bodies of the goblins and the giant rat into the tomb atop the cowhides the goblins had been using as tents, and shoved them all into a far corner of the first chamber. Then they all disassembled the campfire and scattered what was left of it around in hopes that nobody would notice it in the fog.
At last, they led Haunch into the tomb with the cart, and pushed the doors shut again. They moved as much of the rubble as they could against the doors to keep them from being easily pushed open.
"The only problem with this is we're going to have to move that out of the way again if we need to leave," Al said, "so let's be very careful not to disturb anything that we're going to need to run away from. Gruntle, do you see or hear anything moving around in here besides us?"
Gruntle's ears swiveled as he looked around, sniffing at the air. He loped over to look down each hallway in turn.
"Nothing," Gruntle reported finally. "Smells like swamp that way," he said, pointing to the left hallway. Then he pointed to the right, past the grating. "Smells sour that way. Don't hear anything. Don't see anything moving."
"Sour?"
Gruntle grunted.
"What about that hallway ahead?"
"Closed doors that way."
"What do you think, Bote? Would they lay the hero to rest in the obvious room straight ahead?"
Bote considered. "I cannot say for certain. I am not so familiar with Elvish burial customs. I would guess that, being a hero, either the remains are on display in a central place, or they are at rest in the most protected place, perhaps beyond the steel barrier."
"Well, since I can't tell exactly what would happen if we tried to force the barrier out of the way somehow, straight ahead is probably the best place to start. Let me get a torch, there's no telling how dark it might get further in."